Trenton – National Posthttp://news.nationalpost.com
Sat, 10 Dec 2016 03:09:27 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/http://1.gravatar.com/blavatar/bf69214e83fdd5520e4b5d91ba3b7d64?s=96&d=http%3A%2F%2Fs2.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngTrenton – National Posthttp://news.nationalpost.com
Long live the Mustang: How one Ontario drive-in theatre has stayed alive, while changing with the timeshttp://news.nationalpost.com/arts/movies/long-live-the-mustang-how-one-ontario-drive-in-theatre-has-stayed-alive-while-changing-with-the-times
http://news.nationalpost.com/arts/movies/long-live-the-mustang-how-one-ontario-drive-in-theatre-has-stayed-alive-while-changing-with-the-times#respondFri, 26 Aug 2016 17:59:26 +0000http://news.nationalpost.com/?p=1190591

The first thing you want to tell everyone about a night at the Mustang is the honking.

After you’ve driven out along Prince Edward County Road in Picton, past the vast wineries and bed-and-breakfasts, from Belleville or Trenton or one of the other towns nearby, and after you’ve pulled into the grass-and-gravel lot and found a space among 500 hatchbacks and station wagons and tricked-out pickup trucks, and after the sun has set, and you’ve bought a bag of popcorn and a bottle of Pepsi, and after you’ve finally settled in – that’s when the honking starts.

Honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk. Such noise! It’s like an overture. You’ll never see a movie at the Mustang Drive-In without first delighting in this vehicular symphony.

Jordane Verner/Mustang Drive-In

A drive-in is by its very nature a monument to tradition, to the obstinate indomitability of the antique and passé, so it’s hardly surprising that it has traditions all its own. But the honking is more like Mustang lore. It all started during the chrysalis of the FM radio system, when the theatre introduced a transmitter that could pump a movie’s soundtrack into every car in the lot over the airwaves – if only it would work properly, which at first it never seemed to. It got so bad that every screening would devolve into a furor of outraged honking. So one night the Mustang’s owner, Paul Peterson, understandably fed up with the whole routine, stood in front of a lot full of cars with a microphone in his hand and said, “Look, you’re going to honk at me anyway, so you might as well do it now.” The place erupted like a wedding convoy. “They did it and they loved it,” Paul told me. “Every night since then we’ve honked. It was kismet.”

Paul is the second thing you want to tell everyone about after a night at the Mustang. Paul, 60 this July, is a big, wild character, a hippie dynamo with shoulder-length grey hair and a goatee that looks as though it’s surging over the rest of his face to form a beard. He looks exactly the same as when I went to the Mustang as a child 20 years ago. Affable, garrulous and charismatic in an understated way, and though he likes to downplay his authority, making jokes about his maladroitness and bone-deep nonchalance, you can tell he’s the leader, the lord of the Mustang manor.

“I talk to the customers every night, I try to make them laugh, I have a whole ongoing dialogue that never ends,” Paul says. He’d never say so himself, but that’s essential to the drive-in’s appeal. It’s Paul’s pliability, his total willingness to change with the times, that’s kept this monument to tradition in business. The years pass, and Paul adapts.

How Paul Peterson came to own a drive-in theatre in the middle of Picton is a story I suspect he’s told a thousand times before. (The man is a natural raconteur.) One afternoon in the summer of 1988, Paul, then working as a counsellor for young offenders and youth in crisis, drove to Port Dover with his wife, Nancy, and happened to take a shortcut through the County. They spotted the Mustang, not in the best condition at the time – “the word ‘abandoned’ would be appropriate,” Paul says – and noticed it was for sale. Paul stopped the car, looked the place over, and said to Nancy, “Wow, that’d be cool, let’s buy it.” So they did. “That was our whole business plan: that’d be cool,” Paul admits. “It wasn’t exactly Cinema Paradiso.”

Paul is just the sort of person you’d expect to change his life on a whim, investing everything into a foundering business with the notion that he’d make something of it, for the simple reason, he says, that he “thought it seemed fun.” There was the small matter of expertise and experience, of which Paul and Nancy had neither. “I didn’t know sh-t from dead air about how to put a movie on or any of the technical side of things,” Paul says. “But I was smart enough to have kids who were smarter than me, and they could learn it, and then they dumbed it down for dad.” Together the family got things running smoothly and the Mustang, at least in technical terms, was off to a fine start.

Courtesy of Mustang Drive-In

Oh, but the problems weren’t merely technical. Drive-ins, remember, were a product (or maybe a symptom) of the post-war automotive boom, when the sudden confluence of free time and economic prosperity in America ushered in a surge in the popularity of cars among teenagers, for whom vehicles were synonymous with freedom. And in those days, the teens weren’t flocking to the drive-in for the robust sound or crisp picture. There’s a reason these institutions came to be known as “passion pits” or, more colourfully, “finger bowls,” an appellation I’m not at liberty to explain in a respectable newspaper. If things seemed licentious in the late 1940s, oh boy, were they ever worse in 1988. The drive-in Paul inherited, to hear him tell it, was a regular Gomorrah.

And as Gomorrah it had been unabashedly run. Teens would roll into the Mustang drunk out of their minds, hooting and cavorting through the show, until things would inevitably get out of hand, and the police would descend upon the place. When they took over in 1988, Paul and Nancy endeavoured to reform the carnival, repairing fixtures and keeping the premises clean, and promoting a more sensible attitude. But they couldn’t put an end to the partying.

“Then one night,” Paul remembers, “we had a kid there, leaning up against a speaker pole, looking totally out of it. He’d arrived, his friends told us, after drinking a bottle of rye and dropping acid. I had to rush him to the hospital. That was it. I said to Nancy: no more. On the one hand, at my day job I’m trying to help troubled kids. And at nighttime I’m creating an atmosphere that isn’t helping them at all.”

The next morning Paul took out an ad in the local paper: “The Mustang Drive-In now has a zero tolerance policy for alcohol,” it plainly announced. Before this new edict was instituted the Mustang was receiving audiences of something like six or seven-hundred a night, streaming in by the carload for the usual debauched double-features. Paul’s prohibition put an end to that.

All at once, the very day the grounds went dry, the Mustang’s regulars resolved to stay away. And that’s not all. “Not only did they stay away,” Paul says, “they would drive by and heckle us. They’d hang out the windows of their cars and yell, ‘Hey, nice drive-in, jerk!’ Only that wasn’t the word they used.” Gomorrah had burned to the ground overnight, which suited Paul’s ethos. But it’s hard to make money on a pile of embers. “That first year, we looked at each other and said, well, we just lost like $6,000.”

Courtesy of Mustang Drive-In

The reformed Mustang might not have been to the taste of the area’s libidinous teens, true, and the people who had called themselves drive-in regulars for years no longer wanted anything to do with it. But what Paul quickly realized, as cars made the trek through Picton once again and attendance began to rise, was that all sorts of other people welcomed the change.

Eventually these viewers and their families more than outnumbered what the drive-in had lost. The Mustang had officially become family-friendly. Paul started programming all-ages content. He welcomed little kids. He even put up a playground in front of his enormous silver screen, where, I fondly recall, I spent hours upon hours gallivanting as a child.

The reformation is a good example of the kinds of changes Paul has ushered in and embraced. And naturally the Mustang has gone on to change a great deal since then. Paul erected a second screen on the grounds in 2004, after the area’s insatiable demand for Spider-Man 2, of all things, drove anyone who’d already seen it completely mad. (“We were in our sixth week and making serious money, getting 500 people every night, but people would call up, pleading, and say, ‘Please, no more Spider-Man!’”) Paul also went online, and now manages a Mustang Drive-In Facebook fan page whose subscribers number nearly 10,000. (“It’s crazy. Al Gore hadn’t even invented the Internet back when I bought the place.”)

Most recently Paul was obliged to go digital. The Mustang Drive-In projected its last 35mm print last year. Tragic, yes, and film purists will no doubt mourn the loss, but it’s frankly astonishing that the Mustang held out as long as it did. Most theatres, even hardcore repertory houses, were impelled to make the switch years earlier, at the behest of the major studios back in 2009. The Mustang, Paul says, was indeed pressured to upgrade, mainly because distributors could no longer be bothered to physically deliver 150 pounds of celluloid to the middle of Prince Edward County every week. And for Paul it didn’t much matter either way, so long as he was getting new releases on time.

Courtesy of Mustang Drive-InThe Mustang screened The Tragically Hip's final Kingston concert at the end of their Man Machine Poem tour in August.

So the Mustang bought new projectors – more than $120,000 for the pair. “We paid more for the two projectors than we did for the drive-in,” he says. Not that Paul would let anybody but himself and Nancy pay for the damn things. “A lot of small-town drive-ins went to customers to sort of wind it up, you know,” he says. “Oh, we’re gonna have to close, blah blah. I’m not doing that. Either the business is viable or it isn’t. If I go to you with my hat in my hand saying, ‘Oh, pity me, I’m just a little guy,’ as soon as I buy a new truck it’s like, ‘Oh really Paul, you’re on hard times, eh?’ So we did that and tried not to raise popcorn to $30 a bag.”

Of course the business is viable; people still come out to the drive-in by the carload, hundreds at a time, a full lot most nights, even 60 years to the summer after the Mustang was founded. (It was born in 1956, same as Paul.)

Yet it’s a shame that success is so astonishing. Why shouldn’t such an evocative symbol of the moviegoing experience continue to not only endure, but triumph? Why shouldn’t a fellow like Paul – so resilient, so amenable to change! – continue to be a success? Well, Paul, good sport that he is, has heard the note of surprise sounded before. In fact he’s often been hounded about it.

“We’ve been on a death-watch for a long time,” he tells me when I compliment the longevity of the business. “People are always saying to me, ‘My god, are you guys still open?’ Thanks. Can you imagine going to your family reunion and going up to your grandma and going, ‘Wow, you’re not dead yet?’”

Paul and Nancy Peterson are proof that sometimes all it takes for tradition to survive is someone willing to change.

BELLEVILLE, Ont. — A busy stretch of Highway 401 near Trenton, Ont., was expected to stay closed throughout the day Wednesday after a 50-vehicle pile-up saw transport trucks scattered across the eastbound lanes.

Four people were injured. Police say their injuries are not life-threatening.

After the crash around 12:10 a.m. Wednesday, Ontario Provincial Police on scene realized that a major clean-up effort was in order, so they called in buses to take 50 motorists to a local Ramada Inn for the night. A woman who answered the phone at the hotel restaurant said she was too busy to speak to a reporter on Wednesday morning.

At the crash site, officials from the Ontario environment ministry were investigating a possible oil spill from one of upended tractor trailers. Ministry spokesperson Kate Jordan said an estimated 40,000 litres of lubricating oil spilled onto the road and into an adjacent ditch. But the oil is not hazardous and is contained, so there are no concerns of environmental impact, she said.

A photo taken from a CTV News helicopter showed dozens of damaged trucks tangled together on the highway, with cars spotted in between.

The collisions happened just after midnight during poor driving conditions.

The night of her high school prom, Connor Ferguson anxiously pulled on a floor-length leopard print dress and slipped her feet inside six-inch high heels covered in glitter.

Handout / Facebook Connor Ferguson, 18.

Despite loving the outfit she’d chosen, the 18-year-old transwoman from Trenton, Ont., considered not going to the prom at all, worried her peers might say something nasty or rude. She never expected they would name her prom queen.

“It was absolutely unreal. I’ll definitely remember that moment forever,” said Ferguson, who was crowned queen at Trenton High School on June 22.

“The cheers from classmates was overwhelming as well … So much support I cannot even put it into words.”

Ferguson heard rumours she might receive a vote or two from her classmates but she never saw herself winning.

“When I got there everyone was so welcoming,” she said. “It was so fun.”

The teen went out with friends later that night and everywhere she went she heard the words: “Congratulations on your win.”

Ferguson’s experience contradicts the notion that high school is a place where bullies thrive and difference is punished.

“I’ve gotten hardly any flack [at school] for being trans,” she said.

“So many of the students and faculty at school have given me words of praise. I cannot give enough thanks for having one of the best high school experiences.”

The story of Ferguson and her crown has spread on Twitter, giving the teenager a glimpse of fame.

Ferguson wrote a letter to CBC.ca last month, outlining her transition experience that began four years ago. At that point, she began building a women’s wardrobe and began using she and her, rather than he and him.

It is a process that has included harassment from some in Trenton, a military community 170 kilometres east of Toronto and home to roughly 20,000 people.

“I wake up every single day in my small town wondering if I’m safely able to leave my house,” wrote Ferguson, who has lived all her life in Trenton.

“I’ve had things yelled at me on the streets. I’ve even been driven at by cars. I don’t let silly things like this stop me from being a happy, confident individual. Regardless of my status as a woman or transwoman I try my hardest not to let the little things bother me.”

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Ferguson said she fights abuse by dismissing it and not giving it her attention.

“That’s the thing — I literally do not give bullies my time,” she told the National Post. “I can’t be bothered with people who spew hatred. They genuinely have no [effect] on my life. I’m so happy with who I am, and I’m proud to be the young woman I am today. I think being a proud woman is something that catches them off-guard too. Don’t be timid … stand up for your happiness.”

Ferguson, who intends to study hairdressing, said she’s shocked strangers are heartened by her experience at prom.

“It’s honestly breathtaking. I cannot believe people are actually touched by such a simple act,” she said.

“All I’m doing is being a happy transwoman. It really doesn’t click with me that society thinks that’s intriguing, or different. I’m just myself, I can’t be expected to be anything else.”

]]>http://news.nationalpost.com/news/canada/transgender-student-named-prom-queen-at-ontario-high-school/feed1stdConnor Ferguson, a transgender teenager from Trenton, Ont., was named prom queen at her high school last month.Connor Ferguson, 20. Emails reveal Russell Williams took break from his crimes to contact basehttp://news.nationalpost.com/news/canada/emails-reveal-russell-williams-took-break-from-his-crimes-to-contact-base
http://news.nationalpost.com/news/canada/emails-reveal-russell-williams-took-break-from-his-crimes-to-contact-base#commentsThu, 29 Sep 2011 22:34:09 +0000http://news.nationalpost.com/?p=97191

By David Pugliese

The email from a Canadian Forces base commander to one of his subordinates seems routine enough.

He says he can’t come into work that day and needs to cancel a series of official functions, including his attendance at an RCAF memorial luncheon.

At the time, he was taking a break from repeatedly raping Jessica Lloyd, 27. Williams had abducted from her home the day before.

Newly released emails and other documents, obtained by The Ottawa Citizen under Access to Information, show a commander dutifully dealing with running one of the largest military bases in the country, all the while he was involved in his crimes. They also reveal the extent of the shock wave that hit Canadian Forces Base Trenton, Ont., in the aftermath of Williams’ arrest.

Military chaplains and counsellors were dealing with issues of fear, security, safety and anger, noted one of the emails. Many women worked “alone with this individual on occasions which have generated many of these emotions,” added another report.

Williams, the former commander at CFB Trenton, was sentenced last year to life in prison.

He was found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder in the deaths of Lloyd and Cpl. Marie-France Comeau, two counts of sexual assault and forcible confinement and 82 break-and-enters.

The emails also show the mundane aspects of a commander’s daily work.

The day before he broke into Lloyd’s home to abduct her, Williams was asking military officials via email whether a visit to CFB Trenton by Helena Guergis, then minister of state for the status of women, and Leslie Natynczyk, the wife of the chief of defence staff, could be delayed.

He pointed out that the pace of operations at the Trenton base was high and suggested it wasn’t a good time for the women to visit.

On Feb. 2, 2010, he discussed concerns about flights bringing coffins home from overseas.

On Feb. 4, 2010, Williams received a photo he requested of Prime Minister Stephen Harper in an aircraft simulator with a defence company executive.

Williams’ calm facade would unravel three days later when he was asked to appear at an Ottawa police station for questioning. Shortly after, police announced they were laying charges against him.

When the news of the arrest was announced, officers went about arranging for counsellors to deal with both civilian and military personnel at Trenton who were shocked and felt betrayed by their senior officer.

Several days later, the mood had changed, one of the documents noted.

“Although each individual reaction is different, in general terms they are now more concerned for their personal security,” wrote base administration officer Lt.-Col. Ross Fetterly. “Whereas, their level of security is not necessarily different from that of last week, their perception of their level of safety is different. Returning to a perceived level of security for them will take time.”

The documents show that a base chaplain visited Williams in jail, and the day after the announcement that charges had been laid the Canadian Forces decided that an administrative review would be launched as a result of allegations of unsatisfactory conduct by Williams.

Williams was given a copy of that message and the chaplain was informed to tell the colonel that since he was in custody his military pay would be stopped. There was also an internal discussion focused on whether Williams could use his accumulated leave as he was in jail.

The documents indicate emotions were running high in the Trenton-Belleville area, with some in the community blaming the military as a whole for the situation.

“A Cpl. from Trenton Wesleyan Church was spit upon and cursed at yesterday,” noted one of the reports. “That was the third incident where a soldier has been spit at or accosted.”

Later, as the trial began, the concern at National Defence headquarters in Ottawa focused on what impact revelations from the proceedings would have on public opinion of the Canadian Forces.

A public affairs specialist was sent to monitor the trial, sending back a running synopsis of the material coming out in the proceedings, including evidence suggesting Williams wore some of his trophy underwear to work underneath his military uniform.

Williams had taken numerous photos of himself wearing women’s and girls underwear that he had stolen during his break-ins.

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Calls to Massicotte’s home and to her lawyer, David Ross were not returned on Sunday.

Last month, Massicotte told the Ottawa Citizen that police left her tied up for five hours after responding to her 911 call. The OPP treated her like a criminal in the early hours of the investigation, she alleged.

She said they were waiting on an OPP photographer to take pictures of her in the harness Williams had made.

“I was left for five hours, still in my harness, still tied up, naked, lying under a comforter,” the 47-year-old said in a telephone interview with the Ottawa Citizen.

“Five hours, no medical attention. I was in total shock. I didn’t know what the heck was going on.”

Massicotte was blindfolded and bound while her clothes were cut from her with a knife. She was forced to pose while Williams took photos for about 3 1/2 hours.

The statement of claim filed against police accuses authorities of withholding information about her assailant for five months and for “allowing the defendant to reside nearby as the neighbour.”

In a notice of claim filed in the case last month, Massicotte argued that the OPP breached its “duty of care” by failing to warn her that a sexual assault had taken place in her neighbourhood just two weeks before she was attacked.

Massicotte lived alone in a house three doors away from the cottage owned by Williams and his wife on the shores of Stoco Lake, north of Belleville, in eastern Ontario.

Massicotte’s allegations have not been proven in court and the suit has not been served, media reports suggest.

Last October, Williams was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison for murdering Jessica Lloyd, 27, and Cpl. Marie-France Comeau, 37.

The former Canadian Forces commander in Trenton, Ont., who was stripped of his military rank after his conviction, also pleaded guilty to more than 80 fetish break-and-enters, thefts and two sexual assaults.

Investigators seized photographs of the former colonel dressed in his victim’s undergarments, which he stole from women and girls.

Williams is now serving a life sentence at Kingston Penitentiary with no possibility of parole for 25 years.

Another victim, whose name cannot be disclosed under a publication ban, filed a $2.45-million lawsuit against Williams and his wife.

Collection action has reportedly been taken against Russell Williams for his failure to pay thousands of dollars in “victim surcharges” levied against the disgraced former colonel for his gruesome crimes.

After Williams was handed 25-year sentences for killing two women, sexual assault, forceable confinement and dozens of break and enter counts, fines totalling nearly $9,000 were placed on Williams — $100 for each of the 88 offences he was charged with. The money goes into a provincial fund to aid victims of crime.
CTV reported Tuesday, however, that a collection agency is now after Williams — who still collects a $60,000 annual pension — to pay up.

The former colonel who commanded Canadian Forces Base Trenton was sentenced in October to two concurrent life sentences without a chance of parole for 25 years for the murders of Jessica Lloyd, 27, and Corp. Marie-France Comeau, 37, two counts of sexual assault and forcible confinement and more than 80 fetish break-and-enters and attempted break-and-enters in Ottawa and the eastern Ontario communities of Tweed and Belleville from 2007 to 2009.

Aside from two murder sentences without the possibility of parole, the judge also ordered Williams to serve 10 years each for his sexual assaults of two women and one year for each of 82 break-ins. The sentences will be served concurrently.

Steve Sullivan, the executive director of Ottawa Victim Services, said Tuesday night if Williams hasn’t paid the fines, which go to keep a number of victims’ resources in operation, it brings Williams’ level of remorse into doubt.

“If he took the guilty pleas a sign of remorse as an understanding of what he has done, and if he’s making a conscious choice not to pay, we have to question whether he truly understands and appreciates the harm he has caused,” Mr. Sullivan said.

He said the fines go to the provincial governments, which then fund sexual-assault centres, domestic-violence shelters and other resources for victims of crime.

Mr. Sullivan was surprised, however, that the fines were even placed on Williams. Many convicted offenders, he said, are able to avoid payment because judges often waive the surcharge due to a lack of resources.

“It’s quite rare judges would impose the surcharge . . . it often gets waived,” he said. “I was also surprised at the amount of the surcharge, but part of that is many offenders probably don’t have a lot of resources.

“Russell Williams is probably somewhat unique in prison in that he has a pension.”

Belleville, Ont. — At Canadian Forces Base Trenton, the country’s largest air force base, soldiers wearing camouflaged uniforms move swiftly with the confident stride of their training, but when a visitor says he just came from their former commander’s court hearing, they anxiously stop and lean in close for the news that Colonel Russell Williams, their decorated superior, is admitting to murdering two women, attacking two others and committing a lengthy stream of fetish burglaries.

One soldier’s eyes widen. Another nods silently. All quickly move on.

In the Belleville courthouse, 20 kilometres away, the orderly world the 47-year-old colonel once commanded has vanished, and the terrifying details of his secret life are laid bare in court documents. It is clear that the square-jawed star pilot was publicly leading an exemplary life of service while privately careening down a path of deviance and violence.

“It just goes to show you, you never know where that carton is going to come from with the bad eggs in,” said Andy Lloyd, the only sibling of 27-year-old Jessica Elizabeth Lloyd, whose murder this past January was the culmination of Col. Williams’ escalating behaviour.

Thursday’s hearing started the final phase of a case that stunned the military and public alike, rattled several communities where his victims lived and drew headlines around the world.

Just before court was called to order, a long line of family members of the victims filed in from behind closed doors, led by Mr. Lloyd and his mother, Roxanne, who clutched a large, framed photograph of her murdered daughter that beautifully captured her warm and ubiquitous smile.

Col. Williams’ lawyer, Michael Edelson, then told Justice Robert Scott that his client will plead guilty to all counts at the next appearance, on Oct. 18.

The indictments list two counts of first-degree murder; two counts of sexual assault; two counts of forcible confinement; 86 counts of break-and-enter and theft in deviant fetish raids of women’s underwear.
That court record stands in contrast to his military résumé.

Before his arrest, Col. Williams appeared a model soldier, often photographed saluting and smartly dressed in a blue airman’s uniform brightened by medals recognizing his service, including one for fighting terrorism in the Persian Gulf following the 9/11 terror attacks.

Having joined the Canadian Forces in 1987, he was considered a rising star, fast-tracked for senior command.

Before taking command of the air base, he was hailed as a star pilot who had flown Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prime Minister, the Governor-General and other dignitaries on their official travels.

“It was kind of a surreal feeling, seeing him walk across the courtroom. He didn’t turn around at all or look at the family,” Mr. Lloyd said.

Indeed, Col. Williams’ face looked dour, his jaw clenched and hair cropped to a bristle, as he shuffled into the packed courtroom in leg shackles and handcuffs but ignored the glaring throng of onlookers craning for a view. Well dressed in a fine-tailored, dark blue suit and white dress shirt, he sat still and quiet throughout the brief proceedings, watched over by 15 armed police officers.

Mr. Lloyd said he has many unanswered questions.

“Why? Why her? How did all this come about, there is so many questions everybody wants to ask him,” Mr. Lloyd said. “They say time heals all. Well it’s going to take a very long time.”

The time the Lloyd family — as well as the family of another murder victim, Marie-France Comeau, 37 — will spend in court dwelling on sordid evidence against Col. Williams, however, is now mercifully cut short.

The disconnect between Col. Williams’ radiant military career and the secret double life as a predator has not tarnished Mr. Lloyd’s faith in the soldiers populating the military base that neighbours his town.

“My feeling of the military is still the same as it was and it is still very, very high,” he said. “That’s the way I was raised,” he said.

His father spent 25 years in the navy and he and his sister grew up at CFB Uplands, a defunct military base in Ottawa.

Nor has the heartbreak of his sister’s murder soured his affinity for his community.

“Honestly, as strange as it sounds, I’ve kind of come to like this town more through all this, because of the amount of random people and good people who have come out of the woodwork for no reason, just because they want to help.”

Belleville, a city of 50,000 just about halfway between Toronto and Ottawa, was only one hunting ground for Col. Williams, along with Ottawa and Tweed, where the crimes also took place.

Many of the fetish attacks came in pairs.

During his first known attack, on Sept. 9, 2007, he broke into a house on Cosy Cove Lane in Tweed and made off with underwear, which he sorted and stored throughout his exploits. He then returned to the same home later that month, Sept. 28, for his second known break-in, according to the indictments.

His next two attacks were also a pair — this time even more daring — hitting the same home in Tweed on consecutive nights, Oct. 19 and 20, 2007.

A pattern of hitting the same home a second time the next day was repeated in Tweed, Ottawa and Belleville 10 times over the next two years.

His behaviour has two tragic escalation points, pushing his extreme behaviour to dark and dangerous extremes, the court file shows.

On Sept. 17, 2009, after an increasing frenzy of fetish burglaries, he seemed to no longer be content with his trophy hunt.

Breaking into a home in Tweed that night he confined and sexually assaulted a woman inside, according to police.

The next night, he was back to the break-and-enters and thefts.

Less than two weeks later, however, he again confined and raped a woman in Tweed.

That victim, Laurie Massicotte, lived three doors away from Col. Williams’ home in Tweed. Yesterday, she officially waived her right to have her identity protected by the court. Earlier, she described to a Maclean’s reporter her 3 1/2 hours of terror as she awoke in the dead of night to be battered by an intruder.

She was blindfolded, shackled, stripped using a knife and forced to pose for degrading photographs as the attacker threatened her, saying: “I need you to be quiet” and “Don’t make me make you.”

In the warped world of deviant serial crime, Ms. Massicotte might now be considered fortunate — given what happened next.

On Nov. 16, 2009, in Brighton, Ont., an hour’s drive from Tweed, Col. Williams broke into a home and made off with more fetish trophies. Eight days later, he returned to that same home and killed Ms. Comeau, a 37-year-old corporal at CFB Trenton.

And two months after that, over the course of two days this January, he did the same to Ms. Lloyd.

Col. Williams is expected to enter his formal plea and his sentencing hearing to commence on Oct. 14. It is expected to last three to four days.

The families of the victims are looking for their turn to have a say rather allowing it to become a platform for Col. Williams.

“I’m not looking for an apology, it’s not going to hold its weight in anything, so we’re not looking for an apology from him but we’d just like to here the truth and what happened,” said Mr. Lloyd.

Col. Williams recently submitted to psychological assessments but the results will now presumably be used at sentencing rather than in defence at trial.

Even so, a guilty plea to first-degree murder requires a life sentence without parole for 25 years, leaving little room for the elite pilot to manoeuvre.